"The next day I said goodbye to the general and set off for my destination." A.S. Pushkin
"I was approaching my destination." A. and B. Strugatsky
Early in the morning, I checked out of the hotel in Portland, where I had stayed overnight immediately upon arrival. The driver said that Yarmouth was about 15 minutes away—much closer than I had thought when studying Google Maps. The driver was a regular morning visitor to McDonald's and, at his employer's request, agreed to give me a ride for free. What could I do for him as a sign of gratitude? Only the most delicious McMuffin for breakfast, which I mentally promised myself right then and there.
The small McDonald's space, just like the world on Google Maps, turned out to be completely different from what I had imagined. As the employer said, there was no Drive-Thru, which automatically nullified half of my last year's experience, and the entire kitchen was located around the perimeter, so the employee had to be able to do everything in this single space: grill, sandwiches, salads, desserts, etc. I realized with regret that I would have to master the grill. The main thing: it seems I won't get to work on my beloved, tender, and hot fries at all, because only those who assemble orders—that is, the Most Important Managers—handle them here. While I was trying to accept this as a given, a cake with the inscription "Welcome, Anastasiia" appeared on the table right next to the registers, and a helium balloon with a smile on it was straining upward toward the ceiling. I took the balloon home—I couldn't resist, it was so nice; and I cut the cake as part of tradition and treated everyone.
Regarding the balloon. Yes, it hung at home for a very long time, smiling, and was my only roommate (later, ants joined the number of roommates—just so you know). But how I carried it home, across the main street, in view of the cars stopped at the intersection, is a separate story. Just the same, a couple of days later, I dragged a lamp, and then a bicycle. The employer donated all this as humanitarian aid. For some reason, he considered the attic I was renting inconvenient or something, asked ten times "Is it really okay there?" and, apparently not believing it, brought these things out of compassion. The bicycle, he justified, was a spare, and the lamp was old ("But a very sexy one!"). Also, the landlady prepared a bunch of kitchen utensils in the apartment. This American trait—to help not with words, but with deeds—is wonderful. Remember, Ilf and Petrov admired it when the very first passing driver helped them with a broken car. But our complaints about life and delicate mental organizations have no place here. And to be honest, that's very good.
The first impression of the northerners was that they were somewhat cold. Subsequently, this was confirmed. They are more or less similar to people from central Russia, minus the "Russian soul" wide open, which was just mentioned. Focused on work, reserved, calm, and not involved in other people's problems. But—more intellectual and smart. "More" is in comparison with Texas; in all my assessments of America, this is the starting point one way or another, which is natural, right?
This was one of the ideas of this summer—to compare the American North and South, and I did not expect the difference to be so great. I have always said that for me, America is the people, meaning I will never write about how clothing brands or prices for netbooks differ here and there (especially since, it seems to me, they don't differ at all). I am insanely interested in what Americans are into, how they spend their free time, whether they know anything about Russia, how deeply they let you into their world, and what principles and values they are guided by. So, on all these points, Maine is radically different from Texas. It's so strange: it's like arriving in the same country as a "long-timer" second-year student, but everything has to be started almost from scratch. I even barely understand their speech, although my English made a big leap last year. For example—the attitude toward Great Britain. One Texas comrade said that Great Britain sucks because they are so ancient and mossy, UNLIKE AMERICA, WHICH IS THE COOLEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD. And at work, they hinted several times that the British English we were drilled in at school is "um... not very good here." Don't say "twenty," say "tweny," and also "dancing," "can't," and "often." From these "ofTens," I had a ruler syndrome for a long time, ready to come down on my head at any moment.
But in Maine, everything is the opposite; many watch British films and series precisely because of their accent, and to my cautious "how do you feel about the United Kingdom," they shrug and answer that it's not bad, a very good country. People here are generally more intellectual, as I already said and will tell you more about later.
In general, the meeting with the dream state took place. I asked to work on the very first day, so the acquaintance with the area was postponed for later, and that's worth telling about separately another time.
But yes, I forgot to say that another pleasant surprise was the high density of male attractiveness per macometer. It's so strange that I still don't stop being amazed: how—? —did it happen that there were so many handsome comrades in our small restaurant in a non-capital town. A mystery, magic. Work&Travel bonus=)
